


Day 2: Roses

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Acts Badly, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Child Warlock Dowling, Crowley Doesn't Mind, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley talks to plants, Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Dubious Ethics, Ineffable Valentines 2020 (Good Omens), M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Plants Talk Back, Roses, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: Crowley inspects one of the vines between two perfectly manicured fingernails. He pinches softly and can hear the moan of agony it gives. These roses are dying an incredibly painful death.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 6
Kudos: 180





	Day 2: Roses

**Author's Note:**

> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)
> 
> Originally written as a stand alone work for the Ineffable Valentines 2020 Tumblr challenge.

Day 2: Roses

May 18, 2015

Working for the Dowlings as Warlock’s nanny has certain advantages for Crowley. 

1: Azriaphale is convinced that his Brother Francis gardener disguise and Crowley’s matronly Nanny Ashtoreth personas are both Heaven-and-Hell proof, and thus is more inclined to spend time with Crowley.

2: Azriaphale’s form, while as luscious as ever, is cloaked in voluminous folds that hide his figure, thus Crowley is less inclined to indulge in lascivious daydreams. 

3: The prostheses Azriaphale has applied to his face to complete his disguise is completely ridiculous and provides Crowley with an easy way to take pot shots at his very best friend. 

4: As Nanny Ashtoreth, Crowley’s Effort conforms to human’s expectations, and thus, even when he is indulging in lascivious daydreams, no one can tell.

5: Aziraphale knows nothing about gardening and Crowley knows entirely too much, thus Crowley finds himself in the position of being Aziraphale’s savior when it comes to questions of plants. He feels a swell of pride (and thankfully not a swell of anything else, see point four) when he is able to assist the angel and be on the receiving end of one of Azriaphale’s beaming thank you’s. 

It is for one of those smiles that Crowley now labours. 

“They’re not all dead, are they?” Azriaphale asks worriedly. He glances around and shifts from foot to foot. 

They stand beneath a pergola covered with climbing roses that provides shade for a small bench in the gardens. The roses have seen better days. Most of them droop, some have brown spots on the edges, and a few have even begun to dry.

Crowley inspects one of the vines between two perfectly manicured fingernails. He pinches softly and can hear the moan of agony it gives. These roses are dying an incredibly painful death. “Well they’re not dead,” he says, “but they don’t have much longer to live.” The vine shudders in his fingers. “At least, not without a miracle or two.”

“But I can’t-“ Aziraphale cuts himself off, wringing his hands. “I mean— we can pray, Nanny, but God helps those who help themselves, now... so we must think of something to do to help God out, right young Warlock?”

A few yards away, Warlock lies in the grass with some plastic army men, cars, and Barbie dolls. He is too engaged to answer. The toys are having a parade. A real one. With sashes and ticker tape and everything. 

Crowley scowls at the angel. “Did you use up your ‘prayer’ quota again, Brother?” He gestures pointedly to Warlock’s toys and snaps his fingers. The Barbies and the Army men begin fighting over who gets to ride in the convertible. 

Aziraphale wrings his hands and shuffles his feet. “There’s not exactly a quota, my dear,” he evades guiltily. “But I think bringing back the dead is a very big mir- I mean, prayer. It’s the kind of thing that would get noticed.“

Crowley sighs. What Aziraphale is really saying is that he hasn’t got a clue what miracle to perform. When you are a miracling something, you either have to be able to imagine what it is that you want to happen, or know exactly what you need in a given circumstance. It’s actually a rather precise science. Aziraphale is a good angel, but a rubbish gardener. The Dowlings would have fired him ages ago if Nanny hadn’t made several intimations that she was desperately fond of him and he desperately needed a job. And Nanny is extremely good at her job. 

Aziraphale continues, “Besides, I think these former beauties could definitely use a woman’s touch.” He snaps his fingers and the army men now have flowers instead of guns. 

Crowley purses his lips and raises an eyebrow above the rim of his dark glasses. So it’s like that, is it? He takes a few steps towards Warlock and sets down the picnic basket he’s been holding. “Well, Brother, let me see what I can do...” 

Aziraphale flutters. “Oh much obliged, Nanny, much obliged.” 

Crowley almost snorts. It is definitely on, Angel, he thinks. He unbuttons the severe coat, easing out of it and delicately folding it. He places it on top of the picnic basket and snaps his fingers as he saunters over to the pergola. The Barbie necklaces have been transformed into swords. Warlock finds the Battle of the Convertible riveting. 

Aziraphale sets up the ladder and holds the bottom while Crowley ascends the few steps so he can clearly see the top of the pergola. And if his calf just happened to brush against Aziraphale’s arm, and he might ever so delicately be able to feel the puff of Aziraphale’s breath across his ankle as he stands at the top and looks at the (almost nearly) dead roses, well, Crowley can keep that lovely memory of warmth and softness to himself. 

Perched at the top of the ladder, Crowley lets his fingers trail against the roses, then brings one up close to his nose, inhaling deeply. He reels back, coughing and gagging. “Ugh... ang- have, uhm, what exactly have you been watering these with, and how often?”

Aziraphale blusters. “Oh, well, first I used the hose water...”

Crowley makes a face. Amateur mistake. “Did you put a filter on the hose?”

“And then when I noticed the first one had a spot I thought I better find something to keep the bugs away, so I looked up some natural insect repellents... no chemicals or anything to hurt one of God’s littlest creatures....“

“You didn’t-“

“... and then I mixed in the peppermint extract. That was on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?!” Crowley cries. “But it rained on Tuesday! I should know, Warlock and I spent the whole blasted day indoors.” 

“Is that important?” Aziraphale asks curiously. “That it rained?”

Crowley cannot believe him. He absolutely positively canNOT! “What else did you do?” he demands. The smell is awful... much worse than just peppermint extract— and— extract!! Extract!! Like he was making a bloody cake!! 

Azriaphale resolutely ignores the indignation and outrage in Crowley’s voice. “...and then they didn’t smell like roses anymore, so I thought some perfume might help, but it’s been quite a while since I bought scent, and I noticed some rosewater in the kitchen...”

The bloody kitchen. That’s where the angel went shopping for gardening supplies. Crowley picks at the edges of one rose. A few red petals fall to the ground. The awful fragrance is making his head swim. They smell, almost.... 

“....gave the next batch a blessing....”

Oh, that’s the smell. Holiness. On Lady in Reds! Crowley shudders. He almost feels sorry for them.

Aziraphale is still talking below him, babbling on about wondering if he needed a special blessed rosewater. Crowley ignores him. He brings one rose blossom up to his face. “Now lissssten, you,” he says in the most menacing voice possible. It usually involves some extra ss’s. “I know you think you have been through some pretty awful torture, and I agree, but you are going to turn your act around, and I mean but quick or you will find not just yourself destroyed, but possibly your entire species, do you understand?”

The blossom looks confused.

“That man down there doesn’t know fuck all about roses, and he does not know that you are Lady in Reds, but I do. You are a ssssinner’s rose, and you and I have the same master, do you underssstand? I know what you are.”

The blossom sways slightly, taking stock of the demon addressing it. 

“Yes, now you’re getting the picture. Let me make your position clear to you: do you see that little boy in the grass down there? He is the Anti-Christ.”

The blossom begins to tremble.

“And you are in his garden, and you are wilting, you pathetic strain of overpriced ivy. How dare you! Do you think he will remember you kindly when he comes into his full power in four years? Do you think, when we triumph over heaven and he has the power to remake the entire world he’ll look back and say, ‘Well, I don’t remember those Lady in Reds being much good— just wilting and dying all the time’? Do you think that’s the kind of rose our master’s son wants in his new world?”

The blossom stands up a little straighter, still trembling.

“Don’t talk to me about overwatering!” he spits. “Do you think he is going to bloody well care if some idiot watered you on a rainy day after spraying you with peppermint extract? Do you think he’ll be understanding and nice?!”

The blossom begins trembling in earnest now. A few petals shake loose and drop to the ground. 

“Pull yourself together,” Crowley snaps. He pinches the base of the rosebud hard. It shudders and then stills. “Now, I am going to perform exactly one demonic miracle for you. Exactly one. I am going to undo all the silly things that silly man down there has done, and then you will bloom and you will look abssssolutely radiant all year round, and I will make sure that you are not interfered with as long as you continue to produce these nice beautiful blosssssoms. Do you underssstand?” He lets his forked tongue poke between his lips. The sight of it causes the blossom to shudder, exactly once, before it straightens up. Its petals stretch high and far. 

Crowley nods. “I am the anti-Christ’s nanny. And if you fail to keep up your end of the bargain, I will not only make sure there are no more Lady in Reds, but possssibly no more roses at all. Little boys lissssten to their nanniessss.” He snaps his fingers. The smell of peppermint is gone. He can’t miracle away the damage from the holy water, but he curses the last few dew drops clinging to the petals. The roses will have to take it from here…. Or face the consequences. 

Crowley is suddenly aware that it is quiet below him. He glances down and…. Aziraphale has gone silent because he... is checking out Crowley's arse, positioned just a few feet above him on the ladder. 

Oh, he thinks, a second before he feels a rush of heat to his groin. Point four to the rescue again. Then, because he is a demon, he says, “Do you like what you see, Angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snap to Crowley’s face, wide and surprised. “I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean-- Oh, I am most dreadfully sorry,” he apologizes. He lets go of the ladder. 

Crowley has time to say, “No, don’t--” before he wobbles on his very high heels and tumbles forward. 

He lands squarely on Aziraphale’s chest, knocking him back onto the lawn. Aziraphale’s arms come up reflexively to grab him. Crowley hears a rip, and realizes he has stretched the limits of what his skirt can handle. A cool breeze tickles his bottom. He takes in a deep breath, and feels his breasts press against Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale’s mouth is inches from his own. His nipples are suddenly rock hard. And…. oh, oh, the angel is making an Effort under all those layers. Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s cock press against his thigh. 

Aziraphale babbles. “I am so sorry, my dear, that was just terrible of me. I really did not mean to stare, I just looked up to see what you were doing, and I wasn’t looking very long, I was just a bit startled, you know.”

Crowley lifts one corner of his mouth in a lazy smirk. “I know.” He shifts his hips gently, rubbing against Aziraphale’s erection. “Startled.” 

“My dear,” Aziraphale says. He brings a hand up to the side of Crowley’s face. Crowley’s heart beats faster and he wonders if this is it. If this is the moment when Aziraphale is going to kiss him… at last! “I have been ill used as a woman myself at times, and I never want- OUCH!”

Aziraphale yelps and rolls them quickly out of the way as a convertible full of Barbies with very sharp swords runs into them at top speed. Warlock runs after it, leaping over them. The army men are following him in a series of smaller cars. 

Aziraphale sits up, Crowley sliding off him in an ungraceful heap. So much for a kiss. Crowley stands and snaps his fingers. He is now perfectly put together once more. 

“Well, I think your roses are going to be just fine…. Now I have to see to my own duties, before the Barbies hit the coast, Brother.” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. “Warlock!” he shouts uselessly. If the boy can hear him, he won’t listen. It’s the principle of the thing. “Don’t worry about checking out my arse, Angel. I’m not offended.”

Aziraphale gets to his feet as well. “Still, I do apologize. Crowley--”

“Nanny,” Crowley hisses sharply. 

The angel bites his lip. “Nanny, I hold you in the highest respect, and I am ashamed of my actions. Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Crowley repeats. He hesitates, vacillating on his next statement before plunging ahead. “I don’t mind... not if it’s you looking.” 

Warlock is farther in the distance than he ought to be. Crowley snaps his fingers. In the distance, Warlock yells, “Oh no, Nanny, they’ve broken!” 

“Got to run now, Brother. I’ll see you later.” He begins taking long strides towards his young charge. 

“Cro- Nanny?” Aziraphale calls. 

Crowley looks back at the angel, standing under a canopy of slightly nicer looking roses. His clothes are still rumpled and grass stained from the tumble to the ground. “Yes?”

“What should I do to help them next time?” he asks. 

Crowley scowls. “Absolutely nothing.” 

Aziraphale rewards him with that grateful smile at last.


End file.
